


Wearing All Vintage Misery

by Emamel



Series: Slow gold but everlasting [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: A lot - Freeform, Brotherhood AU, Ed Swears, Gen, Homunculus Alphonse Elric, Homunculus Edward Elric, Mentions of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:20:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14841143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emamel/pseuds/Emamel
Summary: Two hundred years before the planned destruction of Amestris, Trisha Elric and Van Hohenheim met, fell in love, and realised they could never have children. They turned to alchemy for a solution.This is what came after.





	Wearing All Vintage Misery

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Spirit's Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8435830) by [Batsutousai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai). 



> This all started because on my first watch of the anime I was like 'wait how can Hohenheim even have kids??' Then this happened. I had it in my head as I started this fic that intent means a whole lot in alchemy, so the homunculi that are created by Father to rid himself of mortal sins would be very different to homunculi created by Hohenheim because he was broody. 
> 
> Also I read The Blood Toll Saga by Batsutousai because I love me some immortal characters, so this fic is in part dedicated to that fab series!!
> 
> Several thousand words later, here we are. I'm playing fast and loose with FMA logic, canon, science, and pretty much everything. Good luck.

Ed estimated that these days he listened to sixty percent of the bullshit that came out of Mustang’s mouth when he was giving an assignment brief. Despite what Al said – because Al was, to the disbelief of literally everyone that ever met them, just as much of a _little shit_ as Ed – this was a vast improvement. He’d started at around twenty-five percent.

 

There were several (really fucking good, Al, _shut up_ ) reasons for this.

 

The first reason started the moment Ed walked into the office, and Mustang did that stupid little smirk thing that meant he knew something Ed didn’t – or at least, he thought he did. It wasn’t quite condescending; then Ed really would have punched him, and Al probably would have let him. It was just… irritating. And often wrong, but Ed was pretty good at keeping that to himself. He’d had a lot of practice.

 

The second reason was that most of the assignments? A waste of damn time. Inspections, lending a bit of alchemical clout to some bigwig donor or other, repair work – actually, scratch that, he didn’t mind the repair work so much. It was almost like going back to his roots. The rest of it, though? Bullshit, complete and utter _bullshit_. Very, very occasionally they’d get to track down some alchemist that also happened to be a steaming pile of shit for Mustang to triumphantly arrest, but even that was pathetically rare.

 

God, fuck, he was getting too old for this shit.

 

The third was that that all the assignment packages he got were written out by Hawkeye, who cut out all the goddamn wordplay and political posturing and just gave him the facts, plain and simple. Why bother listening to Mustang explain why this particular figurehead was so critical – something Ed was already aware of and didn’t really care about _thank you very much_ – when he could skim down Hawkeye’s beautifully presented notes and get the same information in less than half the time with only a fraction of the headache?

 

But despite what Greed said – because Greed was, to the disbelief of literally no-one that ever met him, even more of a _little shit_ than Ed and Al put together – none of this meant he hated the colonel.

 

It was just really hard to remember that sometimes.

 

“Well, Fullmetal?”

 

The expression Ed made probably had too many teeth showing to be called a smile. It didn’t budge, even when Al dug bony fingers into his ribs. “You actually asking for my opinion, or just making sure I’m still listening to you blabbing?”

 

Mustang’s smile was serene, and fake enough that Ed could feel his eye start to twitch in response.

 

“Do the two have to be mutually exclusive?” He asked in that blandly pleasant tone of voice that he’d started using when he’d finally stopped freaking out about Ed’s presence on his team. To this day, Ed wasn’t sure if Mustang had been scared _of_ him or _for_ him. The end result was the same either way – Mustang panicking and doing a passable job of hiding it – but Ed was nothing if not terminally curious.

 

Besides. It would be something of a novelty to have anyone other than Al scared _for_ him.

 

Winry and Pinako and Teacher – they all _worried_. They _fretted_. Winry blustered and hid her concern behind frustration every time he had to call her and admit that his arm or leg was busted again. Pinako spoke volumes with her long silences and narrowed eyes – she knew more about them than perhaps any other human alive, and for years had been their only point of contact with Hohenheim. She’d seen them through enough shit that there was very little that could get her worked up. And Teacher –

 

Hell, Ed was still a little afraid of her. Knowing, intellectually, that the damage she could do wasn’t permanent did very little to make him feel better about it. He liked to think it was how she showed she cared.

 

“You already know what I think of it,” Ed said. “Same as what I always think. But shit, orders are orders, yeah?”

 

Mustang’s eyes flashed with amusement, though there was no trace of it in his voice.

 

“Alright – in that case, your orders are to keep damage to public property at an _absolute minimum_. I’m getting fairly tired of trying to explain your expense reports.”

 

“It’s not like I ever _plan_ the destruction,” Ed protested – good-naturedly, he thought. The long-suffering look on Hawkeye’s face suggested he’d missed the mark by a mile or two. “And I always fix it after, so I don’t know what kinda shady shit you’re trying to pull using _my_ reports.” Hawkeye’s shoulders slumped in something like exasperation while Al’s tightened beside him, but Mustang just threw his head back and laughed.

 

Weirdest sense of humour of just about anyone Ed knew.

 

“But seriously, this Cornello – what are we actually supposed to do about him?” Ed asked, turning his gaze deliberately towards the ceiling and watching Mustang in his peripheral. He knew how much the man hated it, and made a point of doing it at least once every time he was called into the office.

 

“Just observe for now, and report back anything unusual,” Mustang said, serious again. “There are rumours that these ‘miraculous’ acts of his can perform acts that are impossible even with alchemy – like, say, creating from nothing.” Ed knew what he was getting at. It was the same thing he was always getting at, whenever he sent them tearing off around East chasing one goddamn rumour after another. He meant well, Al was always quick to remind him – and shit, Ed knew that. It would have been sweet that the man paid them as much attention as he did, if it hadn’t been so fucking annoying. Their monitoring of potential human sacrifices, their occasionally unsubtle probing into the military hierarchy, the obsessive way they collected news from border towns and communities; it was no surprise that Mustang had caught on to it eventually.

 

And had, as usual, gotten it just slightly _wrong_. He didn’t know where Mustang got the idea they were after a stone, but Ed wasn’t about to correct him. It kept him quiet and off their backs.

 

Ed turned to meet Al’s eyes – already fixed worriedly on his face. _It’s on the array,_ his troubled look said. A grimace pulled at Ed’s mouth – _and this sounds like them._

 

Al’s brow furrowed slightly – _what are they planning?_

_Ishval?_ Replied Ed’s snarl. Al’s face drained of colour for a moment before he shook his head briskly and turned back to the colonel. The entire exchange had taken barely ten seconds; the advantages of knowing someone two hundred years plus change, Ed supposed.

 

“Could be sleight of hand.” It was a token protest – Mustang drove him up the wall, but even Ed had to admit he was meticulous when it came to his information network. He wouldn’t have presented them with a mission like this without doing a little sniffing around of his own first. Mustang watched them both steadily – unwavering.

 

“Supposing it’s not, though.” Al’s voice was careful, face blank. He was doing that thing again, where he would forget to breathe between speaking until Ed nudged him hard enough to get him to suck in a whatever-passed-for-a-lung-full.

 

“Yeah, supposing it’s not,” he agreed, grinning as Al spluttered. Mustang and Hawkeye’s calm facades had taken on a pained edge. Everyone got that look at some point around him and Al – those two had managed to get it down to a fine art within minutes, and had it synchronised to boot. Ed had been pretty impressed. Usually it took at least a couple of hours before people started to catch on to the fact that the majority of their conversations were half silent.

 

“I’m so glad we had this talk, Fullmetal,” Mustang said, dry as the midday desert.

 

“The next train leaves in a couple of hours, so you have time to pack.” Hawkeye cut in, face kind but eyes gleaming.

 

See, that? Right there? Hawkeye’s idea of a joke. She knew full well that they’d been living out of a suitcase for as long as she’d known them. These days, it was more noteworthy if they managed to get around to _un_ packing. Make that two of the weirdest senses of humour of just about anyone Ed knew. Fuckers were perfect for each other. Ed snorted, and Al tipped his head in some respectful little nod when Mustang airily dismissed them.

 

As always, Mustang’s office was a hive of activity.

 

“Hear you’re off again, Boss,” Havoc said cheerfully. “And to think, you’ve only just made it back to us!”

 

“Where is it this time?” Breda asked. Fuery was still typing at his desk, and Falman made an attempt at looking like he wasn’t listening, but they all knew it was a front. Those two hoarded information like fucking dragons. Ed let Al take over their side of the conversation, only adding his voice when Havoc laughingly ruffled his hair.

 

Half an hour later, slumped sideways across a little bench at the train station, he was still grumbling about it. Al had held out that long, but finally, _finally_ he relented, shoving at Ed’s head until he was sat up far enough for his brother to get at the braid. Ed grinned to himself. Back when Al was really young, and still trying to figure out his delicate motor skills in a body with too much strength and too little sensation, Ed – or rather, his hair – had been his favourite guinea pig. Trying to braid, or even just tie back hair with one hand was infuriating, and he’d never minded when Al yanked too hard or pulled out clumps. It always grew back just fine. Even now, with two functioning hands, he always ran the risk of getting it caught in the joints of his automail, something Winry would cheerfully scalp him for. Which wasn’t a problem if he was wearing his gloves, but the rest of the time…

 

Much simpler just to let Al do it. He barely even pulled anymore, unless Ed was being particularly prickly.

 

Once he’d finished – no sharp tugs today, Ed had been on his best behaviour – Ed flopped back down, the crown of his head just pressing against the outside of Al’s thigh. He folded his hands over his stomach and squinted up at the clouds; it didn’t look like it was going to rain before they left, but there was a suspicious ache in his right shoulder.

 

“Do you really think they’re targeting Liore?” Al asked softly. Ed’s eyes drifted shut; he huffed, reaching back blindly to knock his brother’s shoulder.

 

“Probably,” and there were a thousand other things he said with that one word – _we’ll stop them,_ and _I’ll watch out for you,_ and _we’ll do better this time,_ and _this isn’t Ishval._ Al pressed light fingertips to his wrist, and Ed knew he’d heard them all. “Wake me up when the train arrives.” _I’m sorry that I can’t stay awake with you,_ and _wake me up whenever you want to talk,_ and _I’m still here, I’m still here._

 

“Sweet dreams, brother.” _Sleep well,_ and _save your strength_ , and _I’m still here, I’m still here._

Ed smiled. Who the fuck needed to talk anyway?

 

* * *

 

 

Liore, Ed realised, was fucking _hot_. It was baking, it was blistering, it was sweltering, and yeah, see Mustang? He could do fancy fucking wordplay or whatever when the mood struck. It was dry, it was sandy, the buildings all looked to be in ongoing states of repair and the streets were almost empty.

 

It was _Ishval_ all over again, and god fucking _damnit_ Al was getting that distant look that never meant anything good.

 

Distraction tactics, shit. Ed grabbed his brother – flesh hand, right, even through the gloves his automail was hot enough to burn – and nearly dragged him down the street towards what looked to be a water fountain until he got close enough to see that whatever it was that was flowing was fucking _red_. He managed to keep it together long enough to take a sniff. It smelled like wine, which – right, fine, whatever, pretty weird but the thing was, it wouldn’t normally have been a problem. Except.

 

Except Al looked pretty pasty, was dragging in deep, unnecessary breaths way too fast. And all that red liquid, just pooling there? May not have been quite the right colour for blood, but it was close enough that Ed could see precisely what was flashing in front of Al’s eyes right now.

 

So, real water, and a real place to sit down and get his brother hunched over until the panic faded. Good planning, Ed, fucking stellar job.

 

He hauled Al back upright, one arm tight around his brother’s shoulders; he’d admit to it under pain of (real, permanent) death, but times like these he resented his height. This would be so much easier if Al was still small enough to tuck against his side. So, suitcase in one hand, spaced-out brother in the other, and an expression that could be described as ‘tense’ if one was feeling generous plastered on his features, it was little wonder that the locals were more than happy to give him directions. _Or shit_ , he mused once Al was situated on a barstool and no longer looked in danger of toppling off, _maybe people here are just genuinely friendly._

It happened from time to time, he knew. Usually in small places – people in the city had the capacity to be nice, sure, but they rarely had the time to be friendly. But this? The easy way they were greeted by the stall owner, the warm smiles directed their way by the occasional passer-by?

 

This was _weird_.

 

“Guessing you two aren’t from anywhere this hot,” the man said cheerfully once Ed had chugged half his glass of water and slid it across to sit in front of Al. Not that his brother would drink it, but. Appearances and all that. “And you definitely aren’t local – would recognise a pair like you!”

 

Once, Ed would have snapped back – demanded to know what that was supposed to mean, insulted and so quick to rise to any bait. Back in the days when he was furious at the world and always looking for an outlet. He liked to think he’d matured a little bit since then. These days, his outlets all deserved what was coming to them.

 

“Been to Dublith and Rush Valley a few times,” Ed admitted. “Edge of the desert as well. Just didn’t realise how far it was from the train station to get to town centre.” The man laughed, moustache quivering.

 

“There’s a couple of trucks that run back and forth a few times a day that give folks a lift,” he said, not unkindly. “For when you head back, I mean.”

 

Ed nodded his thanks, distracted by Al, who seemed to be coming back to himself piece by jagged piece. He picked up the water, took what appeared to be a large gulp, and handed it back to Ed, who grimaced. Backwash – _gross,_ Al.

 

“But what made you come all the way out here? Couple of kids like you – are you travelling alone?”

 

“Mmhmm, just us,” Ed said at length. People were usually pretty good at drawing their own conclusions when you gave them little snippets to work with. The man’s eyes swept over them, and Ed knew full well what he thought he saw. Two teenagers – dusty and exhausted from travel, one in long, heavy sleeves and gloves even in the heat, and the other just starting to look at his surroundings and actually _see_ them. The marks of shared blood were obvious, but with no parental figure present. He saw the moment something clicked.

 

“You’ll be here for the church, then,” he said, nodding in a way that he seemed to think looked wise. “We have new members joining all the time – ah! That reminds me!”

 

Overhead sat a small radio that Ed hadn’t really noticed before – the man reached up to flick a switch, static crackling sharply for a few seconds before it settled into the broadcast. Some kind of religious sermon, Ed realised, nose crinkling in distaste. Well, whatever kind of god Leto might be, he had to be better than Truth. Ed heaved himself to his feet, and Al followed suit a couple of seconds after.

 

“Could you give us directions to the church?” Al asked, voice slightly hoarse, but beautifully present and aware. Ed hated how little he could do for his brother at times like that. The man opened his mouth to reply, paused, and then grinned.

 

“I can do you one better. Rose! These gentlemen need an escort to the church, if you would?”

 

Ed spun on his heel fast enough to kick up a cloud of dust around his legs. ‘Rose’ was a young woman – maybe ten years older than Al looked – with long hair, dark eyes and skin, and a brilliant smile that wasn’t quite enough to hide the heavy set of her shoulders. She looked over at them without any sign of recognition, shifting her bags to one arm so that she could hold out a hand to shake. Ed didn’t quite let himself relax; after all, Bradley looked and acted human.

 

Al shook her hand carefully, and after a couple of seconds of Ed eyeing it suspiciously, she drew it back as though nothing had happened.

 

“I’m Alphonse Elric, and this is my brother Edward,” he said – Al was always the best at soothing away any offense Ed caused. “We just arrived from East city this morning, so we don’t know our way around yet.”

 

“Oh!” Rose said, her face lighting up in a smile that was far too bright and familiar to be aimed at complete strangers. She gestured for them to follow her. “I was just on my way there with today’s offerings; we can walk together. Are you interested in joining the church?” Ed opened his mouth around a vehement denial, only to choke back his words at Al’s sharp look. Right. Investigating.

 

“We’re interested in learning more about it,” Al replied. The trick to a good lie – telling the truth. Al had it down to a fine art. “You must be a member?”

 

Al was good at getting people to talk – he had a knack for asking gently leading questions in a warm voice that made people fall over themselves to open up to him. Or maybe it was his sweet face, and the generally kind aura he managed to exude or something. Ed could get people to open up too, but that was usually with thinly veiled threats and outright insults until people snapped and told him everything he wanted to know. It was usually faster than Al’s method, but it _had_ got them shot at a couple of times. Better not to risk it, particularly when they were expected to keep a low profile.

 

Ed half listened to them talk, memorising the route they took, alert to the point of paranoia. He _hated_ this – being made to come somewhere on such short notice, with no chance to properly research the place first. How was he supposed to relax when he was surrounded by people he didn’t know, with no planned escape routes, and an obligation to stay there until fucking _Mustang_ decided he was done?

 

Ahead, Al and Rose stepped into the welcoming shade of the main church building – it was grander than anything else Ed had seen in the city, with heavy wooden doors and vibrant stained glass. It probably cost more to maintain the decorations than it did one of the residential blocks they’d walked past on the way. Inside was more of the same – it appeared deceptively simple, but Ed could see the quality of the materials now that he was looking for it.

 

Where the streets had been relatively quiet in the heat of the day, the church compound was thrumming with activity. A number of worshippers in heavy robes swept past, the folds of fabric not quite enough to conceal the weapons they carried. Al’s shoulders tensed as he noticed it too, but his voice remained soft and encouraging as he carefully evaded Rose’s questions. Al hated lying, Ed knew, but he’d had centuries to practice.

 

“I’m sure, given time and devotion, Leto could help you,” Rose was saying, side-stepping just far enough to bump Al’s shoulder companionably. “Father Cornello insists that it isn’t time yet, but I know Leto won’t make me wait much longer.”

 

Ed tried. He wanted it on record that he really, really tried.

 

“If he’s a powerful god, why would you have to wait at all?” He asked, cursing his stupid fucking mouth even as Al shot him a pained look. An offended expression crossed Rose’s face, chased quickly by one of old, remembered hurt. So this was a question that she’d already been asking, huh? She sucked in a deep breath and Ed was almost impressed; she’d managed to drag a smile back onto her face, and her mouth was barely twitching.

 

“Leto rewards patience,” she explained, and it didn’t even sound like she was trying to convince herself. It sounded like this was something she’d already talked herself into believing.

 

“What rewards has he given you so far, then?” Ed’s voice was brusque, almost petulant. “We’re alchemists – _scientists_ – we aren’t going to believe in something unless there’s some kind of evidence to back it up.”

 

“ _Brother_!” Al hissed. Rose’s mouth hardened before smoothing out.

 

“That isn’t how faith works,” she said, her voice one of forced calm and exaggerated patience. Like she was talking to a _child_. And yeah, so Ed looked like he’d barely stumbled over puberty’s threshold; it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption on her part that he was young and naïve. It wasn’t as though he was somehow _unaware_ of that.

 

Didn’t make it feel any better.

 

“I’ve put my faith in Leto,” Rose continued, earnest and sharp. “And Father Cornello has _said_ that soon it will be time for Leto to bring my love back to me, so I have to believe it!” She turned to storm away down the corridor, leaving Ed with the sinking feeling that he’d fucked up. He could remember that sort of desperation far too easily – remember the lengths it had driven him and Al to, back when they were still as young as they looked, and so very scared.

 

The gaping feeling in the pit of his stomach, the itching in the back of his mind– something that he’d learnt to ignore, but never truly went away – swelled for a moment, yawning wide. Ed felt off-kilter in the worst of ways.

 

There were signs – there were always signs when someone had lost so much, and he’d _seen_ them. He had. He just… hadn’t wanted to.

 

Al didn’t say anything; he didn’t have to. His silence was frosty.

 

“I’m gonna look around,” he said roughly, ducking his head and hunching his shoulders, hands shoved firmly in his pockets as two more of the priests-in-training came around the corner and eyed him curiously. “See if I can find anything for Mustang. And. If I see Rose. Apologise.”

 

“Yes,” Al said; firm, tired of Ed’s shit, but at least pleased that he was making an effort. “You will.”

 

Ed ground his teeth together and chose a corridor at random, striding out with Al close by his side. They had to double back twice after wandering into what seemed to be living quarters, and Ed paused only long enough to search the church itself before the towering statue of Leto creeped him out to the point he had to flee.

 

The complex was deceptively large, with at least two separate towers, and multiple staircases that lead down to what Ed could only assume were underground storerooms. Even if they were to split up, it would take too much time to thoroughly search; by the time they found anything, someone was bound to have grown suspicious of them. They were already being followed – pretty unsubtly – and had spent an unreasonable amount of time gawking around themselves, pretending like they were the lost, awestruck teenagers these people would be expecting. It was why he walked into Rose, almost bowling her over as he and Al worked on ditching their tail.

 

She only staggered back a step before regaining her balance, but Ed felt the way his face pinched in sympathy; she’d collided with his metal shoulder. When she looked up at him, all the blood had drained from her face.

 

It was a fight to stop himself rubbing at his right arm self-consciously. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his limbs – most days he didn’t care enough about people’s opinions to feel ashamed about much. But this; the absolute pity that twisted her gentle features, the horror that dawned on people when they took in his young face… Somehow, coming from her, it was worse. Or maybe he just felt worse, after what he’d said. He took a deep breath, ready to apologise – once for running into her and then again, sincerely, for his stupid fucking mouth.

 

“If you really are interested in learning about Leto,” Rose managed, her words running together in her haste, as she very pointedly tried not to stare at Ed – or rather, his arm – speaking over his sputtered ‘ _sorry’_ s. “Then Father Cornello is willing to meet you. I mean. I told him about you two, and he has some time, and -”

 

“Thank you, Rose,” Al said warmly. “We really appreciate that. Um. I don’t suppose you could take us to him?”

 

There was no idle chatter this time. Just the heavy tread of their boots on plush carpeting, and the echo of their stalkers, one corridor behind and still so very obvious. Ed shoved his hand as deep in his pocket as it would go, tugging at his coat and jacket until he was sure that none of the port could be seen. If Rose really had told Cornello all about them – including their names – then there was a chance he would know exactly who was coming to meet him. Still. It didn’t hurt to at least _try_ to keep some tricks up his sleeve.

 

The man that let them into the enormous office Rose led them to was… oily. There was no other word for him, from his slick smile to his slick hair, to the faint smell of gun oil that clung to the hands he was waving around in greeting. Rose bobbed her head but immediately craned her neck to look behind him – clearly, this wasn’t Father Cornello. His gun was poorly hidden beneath the line of his robes, his smirk even more poorly hidden beneath his smile.

 

Behind them, the door slammed shut. Ed forced a smile.

 

“We won’t take up much of the Father’s time,” he said, as though he hadn’t noticed anything wrong. There was still a chance they could defuse this whole situation. “I’m sure he’s a busy man.”

 

“Not to worry,” Oily said, spinning to face them as he drew and cocked his gun. “This won’t take long.”

 

He fired twice. Point blank.

 

Al staggered, face a mess of something like blood, and singed flesh, before he crumpled. There was a moment – less than a second – where the world was utterly still, before it began to filter back to Ed. He didn’t know if the roaring he heard was his own fury or Rose’s screams; couldn’t see past the gun in Oily’s hand, still smoking. Distantly, he was aware that his stalkers from before had caught up and were holding him back with spears clenched in white-knuckled fists. Their breathing was unsteady, a remote part of his brain realised – as though they’d never seen someone shot before, as though they were somehow shocked. Rose was begging, crying, while Oily made noises about heretics and demons, about Father Cornello’s orders.

 

_Demons_.

 

Yeah. That was one word for it.

 

“Big fuckin’ mistake,” Ed snarled, glaring up at him from under his hair. He smacked his palms together, the bright sparks of a reaction already flickering. “Should’a shot me first.”

 

The spears were pathetic – compared to the blade of his automail they may as well have been made of paper. One of the guards shrieked almost loud enough to mask the other’s pathetic whimper as they both scrambled to get away from him, white robes billowing. Ed clapped again, a thousand different arrays racing through his mind. He wanted to _hurt_ , wanted to _rage_ , hundreds of voices adding their anger to his until he felt like his mind was boiling over.

 

Furiously he clamped down on it. Thought of Al, of his disappointed face.

 

The array for manipulating metal was simple, easy to recall. It was one of the first things he’d learned with Al, the two of them taking great delight in improving the tools of their neighbours in exchange for sweets for Ed and pencils for Al. A transmutation like this – gun to useless lump – took almost no effort to carry out.

 

Altering the form mid-transmutation when Rose’s hand clamped down over the gun, shaking but immovable? That was something only a handful of alchemists would have been capable of. Rose would probably never know how close she came to having her hand irreparably damaged by liquid steel.

 

“Rose,” Oily said between gritted teeth. Ed was careful to keep his eyes on them, and not the red sparks he could see casting strange shadows behind them. “Step _away_. This is the will of our god – you don’t want to interfere.”

 

“He can’t be a very nice god,” Al said reprovingly, placing his hand over Rose’s. The last light of regeneration was just fading, bathing his hair and dying it briefly blood red. His eyes were hard, feet planted like Teacher had shown them, before he shifted, his whole weight flowing forwards into a blow that would have cracked a real child’s hand. Oily dropped like a stone. Ed snorted, kicking one of the spear halves up and catching in his left hand, turning to take care of the guards.

 

See? Like Ed always said – _little. Shit_.

 

“Okay Al?” He asked. His brother nodded, one hand coming up briefly to rub at his new eye – newly reformed parts always felt strange to start with. A little too weak, and tender. Ed had somehow managed to avoid ever needing to heal his eyes, and from the grimace on Al’s face, he thought he’d like to keep it that way.

 

A soft _thwump_ behind him made Ed look around, to see Rose on her knees, eyes wide and horrified.

 

“He – he _shot_ you,” she whispered, mouth quivering around the words. “He shot you, I saw, and you – you. What _are_ you?”

 

“Rose,” Ed said, softly, helplessly. He glanced at Al, only to see his brother looked just as lost as he felt. How could they possibly explain? Put hundreds of years of history into words she would accept? Explain what Hohenheim had done; what Ed and Al had stupidly attempted; the energy that sat, crackling, just beneath their skin? They’d never been forced to tell anyone like this before – it had always been by choice in the past.

 

“We aren’t – it’s true, we aren’t humans like you,” he said eventually, kneeling to meet her gaze. Tears had left rivulets in the dust on her cheeks – he didn’t reach out to wipe them away, didn’t want to see her flinch. “But Rose, please, please believe that we _want_ to be. That we’re _trying_.”

 

“But what does that _mean_?” she cried. “Human like me, what are you-”

 

“We’re – artificial,” Ed managed through the ringing in his ears. “We, we were created by alchemy – our parents couldn’t have children, so our bastard of a father-”

 

“Ed,” Al cut in gently, shaking his head before Ed could steam on, fury coursing through him and up out of his mouth, barbed words dying on his tongue.

 

“Alchemy can do that? Create people?” Rose asked, a terrible new gleam in her eye even as fresh tears fell. Ed slammed his fist against the wall, metal on stone chiming sharply. Rose’s eyes went wide, her mouth frozen open.

 

“There’s no such thing as successful human transmutation,” Ed spat, looking away. “The cost is too high – most people die before they even get close to paying it. And after all that, what you get isn’t human; me and Al, we’re the closest anyone’s ever come, but we still weren’t quite right.”

 

“Rose,” Al said, leaning forwards. There were still streaks of red drying beneath his left eye, lending him a sinister appearance despite his gentle expression. “There is no alchemy, nothing in this world, that can call back a soul that’s already passed on. There’s no exchange you could make that would be equivalent. I’m sorry, but there’s no way to bring him back.”

 

She was already shaking her head desperately before he’d finished.

 

“You don’t know that. You don’t _know_ that.”

 

Yes. They did.

 

“Come on, Rose,” Al whispered. He stretched out a hand to help her up – she stared for a minute before finally accepting his hand. “My brother and I, we need to find Cornello – do you know where he’ll be now?”

 

“He really can’t bring him back?” She asked, chin trembling as she set her jaw. “He lied to me? All this time. He’s been lying to all of us. Are you going to stop him?”

 

“Are you going to help us?” Ed replied.

 

* * *

 

The look on Cornello’s face when Ed revealed the switch was something he would treasure for the rest of his life, however long it ended up being. He’d taken a moment to switch it back off when it became clear that Cornello had no mixed feelings about attempting to personally shoot a teenager – the man’s enraged screams when the wounds sealed themselves over, bullets forced out by Ed’s healing flesh to fall uselessly to the stone floor of the church itself made it worthwhile. No telling what people would do if they could hear the accusations coming out of his mouth.

 

Now that the transmission was finished, Al would be heading back, he knew. Ed just had to find a way stop Cornello; and silence him. In all his years, Ed had managed not to kill anyone – at least, never directly or deliberately.

 

He tried not to think of all the times he just wasn’t _fast_ enough, didn’t _know_ enough. It was, perhaps, his most human quality – that there were times when, despite everything, there was nothing he could do to help.

 

Cornello wasn’t making it easy, either. Every word that came out of his mouth, every bullet he rattled off, it all pushed Ed just that little bit closer to the edge.

 

Ed had, at some point in the fight, lost his coat and his gloves; a few too many bullets, and the tattered fabric had just ended up getting in his way. He saw the hungry glint in Cornello’s eye when he caught sight of the array on Ed’s chest through the ripped shirt – the faintest silver of a scar, one that he’d refused to allow to heal the same way as the bullets. Once they knew what Hohenheim had done, once they’d realised just _why_ none of their injuries ever seemed to stick, he and Al had driven themselves to find a way to stop it, to let their injuries heal themselves the same way as any real human. Even now, Al struggled with it, but Ed – anything not immediately fatal, he refused to leave, drawing as much of the energy (as many of the _souls_ ) away from it as he could.

 

No-one that had seen it had ever managed to figure the array out, and Ed was pretty sure Cornello wouldn’t be the first; his knowledge of alchemy seemed extremely limited, and soul alchemy was both taboo and usually considered impossible. Very few alchemists bothered learning anything more about it than that.

 

Hohenheim had been the exception, with Ed and Al following more closely in his footsteps than they wanted to admit.

 

“You know,” Ed said conversationally – he may have gone a long time limiting his human interaction as much as possible, but he’d never lost the talent for running his mouth, “I had wondered if the rumours of you transmuting without equivalent exchange were bullshit, but that’s a stone you’ve got there, huh?” Cornello’s expression went from frustrated to smug with a speed that would make Mustang jealous, and he’d been dealing with Ed’s bullshit for _years_.

 

“Well spotted, alchemist!” And there he went again. Monologuing.

 

By the time the wrinkly bastard had started on about how they had ruined his cult of loyal followers, Ed was pretty sick of just transmuting walls to hide behind. He tested the edge of his automail blade idly – still sharp as hell – before darting out around and slicing the gun in half while Cornello flapped his mouth like a fish out of water.

 

The philosopher’s stone on his finger sparked red as he transmuted and re-transmuted the gun, each time just too slow. Ed clapped, sharpening his blade up again, only to pause at the strangled mess of noise that escaped Cornello’s throat.

 

Metal bubbled up his hand, distorting his arm into something that could only loosely be described as organic, before rippling further, across his shoulder and towards his throat. His normal hand shot out to grab desperately at Ed’s shirt, terror bringing tears to the old preacher’s eyes. Ed scowled down at him.

 

“You’re seriously making this much fuss over a rebound? It’s only an arm or two,” He said, waving his automail around pointedly, only to bite his tongue as the mutations spread further again, up Cornello’s jaw. His breathing turned raspy, strained, the metallic tang of blood suddenly heavy in Ed’s nose as the barrel of a gun twisted itself around Cornello’s tongue, jamming his mouth open. The tears were pouring down his face now and he shook Ed, silently begging.

 

“Wore it out, huh,” Ed muttered, staring down at the hand over his chest – or rather, the ring. Clutched in tiny, metallic claws, the stone had shattered. All those souls, fucking _wasted_ , and Ed couldn’t even muster up anything more than pity when he stared at the snivelling man in front of him. Cornello had fallen to his knees, staring at the ring in disbelief and horror, mouth working uselessly as best he could manage. Once upon a time it would have been enough to make Ed physically sick; now he was just tired.

 

Footsteps behind him made Ed turn – Al picked his way through the mess Ed had made of the floor. Ed’s eyes widened, scanning behind him for any sign of Rose, but Al just shook his head and waved a vague hand towards the outside world. Clearly, he hadn’t wanted her to see whatever Ed had done.

 

Or, in this case, hadn’t done.

 

“Rebound?” He asked, and _shit_ but Ed loved how quick his brother’s mind worked. Ed hummed his agreement.

 

“Least we don’t need to worry ‘bout him talking,” Ed said brightly, leaning down to haul Cornello to his feet. “Or writing I guess, since I’m pretty sure that was his dominant hand. And he probably won’t be keen on telling the military what happened anyway, ‘specially after my report. Gotta be somewhere secure we can keep him ‘til then, right?”

 

“You could always make somewhere,” Al suggested dryly, returning the rest of the room to normal even as Ed transmuted a thin strip of stone to bind Cornello’s hand… Hands. Hand and thing-that-could-be-a-hand-if-you-squinted. Whatever.

 

Ed plastered an innocent look on his face, as though Al had ever fallen for that, even a little.

 

“But Al,” he said, in his best impression of a Reasonable Adult. “You heard what the colonel said about damage to public property.”

 

“And I also heard what you said about putting it back after,” Al retorted immediately, dragging Cornello along. Knowing Al, he planned to hand the fucker over to the people of Liore. Al loved the idea of karma. “Besides,” he continued, the beginnings of a grin pulling at his cheeks. “I’m pretty sure the church is privately owned, so I don’t think it really counts anyway.”

 

“You’re a fucking genius, Al,” Ed said admiringly. “You sort him, while I go find a phone. Gotta call this in, I guess, or the bastard’ll have me shining his shoes, or forging his signature, or whatever he does for punishment, for _weeks_. So much for just observing.”

 

He turned in what he thought was the direction of the entrance – he was pretty sure he’d seen several offices right as they’d arrived, so one of them was bound to have a phone that would connect to an outside line.

 

“Wait!”

 

Ed glanced up to see Rose rushing towards him on unsteady legs. He waited.

 

“There really – there isn’t anything that can-” She couldn’t finish, breath hitching over a sob. Ed rubbed a hand absently over his chest – over the array. Her eyes tracked the motion.

 

“Me an Al, we had a lot more to sacrifice than an ordinary person, and it still wasn’t enough,” Ed told her wearily. “We just wanted to see our mother again, but I nearly lost him; if we’d been anyone else, I _would_ have lost him.” He offered her a small smile. “There’s _nothing_ I wouldn’t have given to save him.”

 

“What did you give?” She asked after a weighted pause. Her gaze flicked from his arm to his leg, where the glint of metal was just visible above his boot. “Your arm? Your leg? Or both?”

 

Ed’s smile was too wide, too sharp with old pain.

 

“These? Nah, this is just because our father was shit at maths. Didn’t have enough base material to transmute a whole kid, so this is what I got stuck with. And it’s not like the healing thing can work on something that was never there to start with, so.”

 

Rose shook her head bemusedly.

 

“But then – I don’t understand. You said the price was too high! You said! You must have given _something_!”

 

“Al would have been the price,” Ed said bluntly, ignoring Rose’s choked-off gasp, the way her hands flew up to cover her mouth, as though she could take her questions back. “He would have crossed over like mum, he would have been gone, and I wouldn’t have been able to bring him back, not even with a stone, not with everything I had to offer. I couldn’t let that happen.”

 

Rose was trembling.

 

“It had to be equivalent. His soul should have passed over, and my soul should have stayed here. So instead, they both got stuck right in the middle.”  His fingers idly tapped the array over his heart – an octagram for the soul, a hook to bind, arcs to attach, and a cross to draw on power beyond himself, carved with the shaking hands of a terrified child, a matching array sliced into the skin of Al’s back. The Gate had already taken some of the Xerxesian souls as a toll for their knowledge, but Ed had known then, as he knew now, with that awful certainty, that he didn’t have enough of a stone left to give for Al’s soul. “At least, that’s the theory. We’re still alive, at least, and ourselves as far as we can tell, so I guess it must have worked. How’s that for faith?”

 

“How?” Rose asked, reaching out to him before snatching her hands back. “How can I keep going? How did you? The church was all I had!”

 

“Move on. You’ve got two good legs,” Ed said. “’S one more than I had so you’re doing better’n me already. Stand up and use them. Me and Al, we’ll stick around for a couple days, but after that this town’s going to need a lot of support, someone to make sure the military doesn’t get too big for its boots. I reckon if you can handle me, you can take them.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of thoughts about this verse that may never make it to the (web)page and I'm on tumblr as TheAceAce; I love to talk so feel free to come shout at me or whatevs.


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